Divided
by MissWitchx
Summary: Stressed to breaking point, Draco seeks refuge in the Prefect's Bathroom, but is angered when the Mudblood - his enemy - is already there. Hermione is concerned about his unhealthy appearance and unwittingly uncovers exactly what he's been hiding all year when she tries to offer help. Will she run to Harry and Ron? She ought to, but things are never so black and white. [HBP AU]
1. Part I

**A/N:** I uploaded this earlier but it was removed, so I rated it M now to be safe Please re-follow/fave/review again.

_Harry Potter belongs to JKR *sigh* I'm not making any profit from this etc etc... _

Hey everyone! I've been wanting to do this story for quite some time and I'm so excited about it. This story is a dark-ish non-fluffy 6th year AU 'what if', so it's quite different to the majority of my other Dramione work. Aside from the scenario, I've kept everything (characterization included) as canon as possible. I've actually really enjoyed writing this, so it's ended up being a two-shot :)

I've also taken this story as an opportunity to flesh out a few of my 'Dramione Drabbles', so some of you may recognise certain sections.

I hope you all like it! (You can skip to the story now)

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Part I & II combined: 10,993

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**Written for: Pairing Diversity Bootcamp **[scrutiny]; **OTP Bootcamp **[hatred]; **Fave House Bootcamp **[Shiver]; **Daily Inspiration challenge **[30th July - fear]; **Evilest Women dark!challenge **[Mary-Ann Cotton - Dark curse (part 2)]; **Dramione prompt challenge **[muttering, unappreciated (pt 2)]; **Canon vs Fanon comp **[Dramione, isolation, shudder, shattered, "I won't let you have that kind of control over me. I can't." (part 1), "Why do you mess with my mind like this?" (part 2)]; **Disney comp **[Tramp: good girl/bad boy relationship]; **Hunger Games comp **[D8 - a Gryffindor]; **Song comp **[easy: Ghosts - Ella Henderson]; **WWW comp **[Death Eater Toffee: 5,000K plus, main character hurt, assumed to be on other side until end]; **7 Deadly Sins comp **[wrath]; **HP Chapter comp **[HBP: The Seer Overheard - anger/regret. Bonus prompt: fear]; **Birthday comp **[June - Zodiac - emotion, intensity, impulsive]; **Butterflygirly99's Quote Contest **[Dark/Angst - "In Light there is Dark, and in Dark there is Light." ― Kami Garcia, Beautiful Darkness]

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**Divided**

_My friends had you figured out… I turn around and you're creeping in._

_And I let you under my skin, 'cause I love living in the sin._

**- Part I -**

Hermione passed the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor of the castle, glaring at the figure as she went. Even when the statue was no longer in her line of sight she turned her head so she could continue to stare at it scathingly. She finally wrenched her gaze away once she spotted the fourth portrait from the left of the statue in her peripheral vision. She muttered the password and walked into the Prefects' bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

_Men, _she did an internal eye roll. Now in the pleasant solitary of the room, she slumped her back against the door and let out a long breath. _Poor Boris, _Hermione thought; he didn't deserve her dangerous glares, but just now Hermione could only view him, even as an inanimate object, as a member of the male population. And that was something that had been making her life rather stressful and tiresome as of late.

Hermione walked over to the swimming pool sized bathtub on the other side of the spacious room. The gentle lighting of the flickering wall torches created a soothing and calming ambience, but she felt the need to vent about her man-related grievances one last time in the hopes of shunning them from her thoughts for an hour or two, allowing her time to enjoy a long, hot soak in peace.

The first person that entered her mind was of course, Ron. He and Hermione had barely exchanged two sentences ever since her impromptu canary attack on him. She couldn't exactly blame him for keeping his distance now, but it just frustrated her to no end that he still couldn't see why she did it. Hermione herself didn't really know, but she was completely new to the notions of 'feelings' and relationships. It scared her, and setting those birds on him seemed to be the only way she could express herself at the time. She'd had crushes before: Viktor Krum, for example, and even Professor Lockhart in her second year, but her feelings for Ron had been developing so slowly and subtly each year that it took the sight of him and Lavender inhaling each other's faces for realisation to come crashing down on her hard.

If that wasn't mentally draining enough, then adding Harry and that bloody Potions book to the mix certainly was. She didn't know why, but Hermione really didn't trust that book, and it annoyed her that nobody else seemed to give it a second thought. She would have thought that Harry, of all people, would be cautious about it, but he seemed to be too busy enjoying his new Potions ability to take any notice of the potential threat. Then there was that theory that Hermione was jealous of being outshined by him, which was completely bogus; she'd be over the moon for Harry if he didn't have so much… _guidance_ from this so-called 'Prince'.

And lastly, there was Cormac McLaggen. He literally made Hermione's skin crawl with all of his suggestive leers and sickening chat-up lines that he obviously thought were incredibly romantic. He really thought he was something special, some God-like Lothario. Hermione shuddered; completely disgusted with herself that she let him kiss her. If that wasn't a sign that she wasn't losing her mind, she didn't know what was.

Hermione's entire body was tense and rigid when she reached the array of taps located at the far side of the tub. She hadn't missed the painful irony that her two best friends had made it onto her mental hit list whilst Draco Malfoy had not… for once. He seemed to have gained a permanent spot there over their time at Hogwarts, but this year he'd been flying suspiciously under the radar. Hermione knew all too well about Harry's 'Malfoy's a Death Eater' theory, but she didn't buy it for some reason. She just had a hunch that everything wasn't as it seemed, just like she felt towards the Potions book.

The prospect of a tub full of warm water was tantalisingly close now, and Hermione reached out for one of the taps. Her fingers barely made contact with the cool metal when the door flung open, and her isolated reverie was destroyed. Given recent events, Hermione could only assume the new arrival to be male. And she was right.

"Oh great, a _Mudblood_," Draco's drawling voice echoed around the room. Hermione jumped at the close proximity of it. The room was very large, and she'd barely registered the sound of his footsteps approaching, so it was safe to say that his presence unnerved her somewhat. What's more, his interruption of what was supposed to be a relaxing time had put him back onto her list.

"Malfoy," she turned. "How lovely to see you." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but that was really nothing new when it was Draco she was addressing.

He arched a blond brow. "I could only wish that the feeling was mutual," he drawled. It was just typical that Granger was here. His whole body hurt; all he wanted was to ease the strain of his aching muscles that his task had inflicted on him, but apparently luck was not on his side today. Come to think of it, luck not being on his side seemed exactly the thing that put him under such pressure to begin with. He constantly felt like he was being watched; being the dark side's 'Chosen One' wasn't all that it cracked up to be, that was for sure.

"You need to leave," he told Hermione.

"Excuse me, but I was here first," she replied haughtily.

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "Here you are, standing beside an empty bathtub. I, for one, actually came here with a purpose in mind."

"And so did I," Hermione scowled at him, whipping around and reaching out for a tap again. She really had no intention of taking a bath whilst he was in the room, but it was just for show. Anger and frustration got the better of Draco, and he lunged out for her. He grabbed her small wrist and gripped it tightly in his hand, thereby causing Hermione to spin around and face him.

The action reminded her all too well of fifth year, when he and his lackeys physically restrained her and other members of the D.A as Umbridge interrogated Harry. Hermione instantly felt her cheeks warm at the memory, but luckily for her, Draco was too stressed and angry to notice.

"Purebloods before Mudbloods, Granger," he spat. "Get out."

"Grow up, Malfoy," Hermione said. She had a nasty comment waiting on the tip of her tongue when her breath caught in her throat as she _really_ looked at him.

Only Hermione knew that she had noticed how Draco had grown and physically matured into quite a good-looking man. Well, 'quite' was an understatement, but she couldn't help but factor in his awful personality even when studying him by eye. Hell, she'd probably have had a crush on him too at one point if he weren't so arrogant and bigoted.

She daren't tell anyone about the fact that she'd started to deliberately take notice of him lately, but it was ultimately these observations that led to her shock in that moment. His platinum blond hair, usually so meticulously styled and placed, now fell in a dishevelled mop, covering his dull grey eyes that normally sparkled and flared the colour of steel when caught up in a heated argument with her. Dark bags framed them, and his elegant and aristocratic bone structure seemed sharp and dangerous. Hermione wondered if he'd lost weight. He certainly didn't look healthy; she knew that much.

Something about the way Draco presented himself seemed off, too. Usually the epitome of composure and nonchalance, he was quite unsettled standing before her. The arm of the hand that clasped Hermione's wrist was shaking slightly, and the closeness of their bodies allowed Hermione to see his cheek twitching, as if he was biting it from the inside. And his eyes… they were struggling to maintain contact with hers. Hermione could almost swear that the grey of his irises was moving and swirling like troubled storm clouds.

Suddenly, Draco cleared his throat, and Hermione immediately snapped her gaze away, only just realising how obvious her study-session had just been. She braced herself for the next venomous comment or insult.

"What are you doing?"

The words were to be expected… the tone was not. Instead of being demanding and borderline abusive, Draco asked the question almost conversationally. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she should put herself out there and risk his prejudicial wrath. She was very aware that Draco's face was easily readable. He looked quizzical, yet scared.

Scared? It was one thing for Draco's ever-stoic mask to have cracked, but the fact that he was showing such an emotion rather unsettled Hermione. She shouldn't give a damn about him, given their history, but she was cursed with a compassionate nature.

"Malfoy, are you… is something wrong?"

Draco scoffed derisively. He chuckled to himself, but the sound was hollow. "Me? I'm just peachy Granger. Not that I care for your pity."

Hermione could tell by the way his voice broke that he was lying. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tried to keep her tone calm, which was very tricky as her body was shaking. She was quite disturbed by the endless causes of Draco's current state her imagination was coming up with.

"Malfoy, I'm being serious. You don't look well."

"So what? I haven't been sleeping much," Draco snarled in a low voice as he continued to squeeze Hermione's wrist.

"It's not just that. You look weak and hurt and," Hermione gulped. "Scared."

Draco looked like he was preparing himself to rebuff her comment again, but she jumped in before he could say anything. "Malfoy, you don't have to play these games with me. You and I both know for a fact that you don't hate me as much as you act like you do." Hermione's eyes flicked to the wrist he was holding.

The words were bold of her - perhaps _too_ bold - but Hermione didn't care. She was beyond caring what Draco thought of her and had been ever since she met him. It was just ironic that her sole motive in pressing him so hard was because she cared about him as a person – or at least his health – to an extent.

Draco swallowed hard. His eyes travelled to the same place Hermione's had done. He knew very well what she was referring to just now, but he thought that event was dead and buried. They'd never spoken of it to anyone, let alone to each other.

It was a stupid thing, really; Draco couldn't even begin to recall what exactly had gone through his mind at the time. It was fifth year, and he and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad were ordered to restrain the D.A members as Professor Umbridge (or 'Queen of the Toads' as most students called her) interrogated Potter.

Draco had held Hermione as instructed: wrists held behind her with his wand jammed into her back threateningly. For a while he quite enjoyed having her and her dirty blood at his mercy, but then her brave resolve faltered; she couldn't help but let out a feeble and pained whimper.

There was nothing natural about Draco's reaction. He ought to have put more pressure onto his wand – caused her more pain – but he did quite the opposite. He slackened his grip around her wrists and replaced his pointed wand tip with the pad of his thumb as he rubbed her back soothingly for a while before replacing it with his wand again, though, with far less pressure than before.

Their schoolyard rivalry had seemed like something much bigger in that moment. It was like Umbridge created deeper divides between the Slytherins and the rest of the school - it seemed like _war_ - and that put Draco's degree of hatred for Hermione into perspective. He realised that if push came to shove, he'd sooner fight with her than against her.

And now he was practically living in the disfavoured scenario. Nothing she could say or do would help him, not that he wanted her help. This was his chance to show her that he was just as talented as she and her muddy blood were.

Regardless of this, there was a small part of Draco that wanted to break down in a flood of tears and tell her everything. It was tempting, but the divide between them, even when they stood so close together, was too obvious for him to ignore now. He didn't see Hermione as a classmate as she stood before him; he saw her as the embodiment of lightness, and good, and purity – all of the things he, standing in the shadows and emitting darkness – was not.

There was no blurring the lines again. It was too late. Draco had made his choice, and that choice made Hermione his enemy.

"I just want my damn bath, Granger," he said slowly. And he really did; over the last few months he didn't think there were a time when stress wasn't a prominent part of his day. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed, or even smiled for that matter. Draco envied the girl in front of him, who thought she had peaked in terms of stress-levels because her stupid crush wasn't being reciprocated. That was infantile and pathetic compared to his problems, which practically saw his childhood ripped from him in the blink of an eye.

If only he'd known what he'd been letting himself in for…

If only he hadn't been so blinded with pride and agreed to it…

Just, if only…

"Draco?"

Hermione's use of his given name was enough to bring his thoughts back to the present. She was really concerned about him now. His grey eyes had glazed over and turned vacant and watery, and he'd somehow paled even more in the space of a few seconds.

"What?" he finally said, narrowing his eyes.

"Tell me what's going on," Hermione said quietly. Her gut told her that this wasn't a time for a silly argument about him intruding on her bath time. This was serious, and simply about him.

"I can't," Draco answered in a shaky voice. He looked so vulnerable and fragile that Hermione was almost inclined to wrap her arms around him and offer him support, both physically and emotionally, but she resisted. This was still the Pureblood supremacist bastard, Draco Malfoy, after all, and he was not her friend.

"Just get out," Draco ordered angrily, running his free hand through his hair.

"I would if you'd get your hands off me," Hermione retorted, trying to yank herself free. She should have known trying to offer consolation would be a waste of breath; Draco was always too driven by his pride and status for his own good.

The more she struggled against him, the tighter Draco seemed to hold on. The blond himself, didn't know why he was doing it when all he wanted was to be left alone. Perhaps it was because deep down, he saw Hermione as his only lifeline. His only chance of freedom.

It could have just been his desperation or his tired eyes playing tricks on him, but for the first time, Draco started to see how pretty the witch had become over the years. He'd always been so blinded by hatred for her and her blood that he'd never truly seen her like this:

Bushy hair – no longer frizzy and hedge-like - fell loosely around her shoulders in soft chestnut waves; framing the smooth and creamy skin of her heart-shaped face. Her deep chocolate-brown eyes looked up at him so curiously and innocently, for the first time not boring into his with loathing and annoyance; and her pink lips were slightly parted in unwanted concern for him.

Granted, Hermione wasn't what Draco would class as breathtakingly beautiful, but there was something about her that he found quite alluring; that he just couldn't seem to look away from.

Everything in his brain was shouting at him to remember who and what she was, but still he kept staring into those brown eyes, which he soon discovered, contained flecks of amber within them. She seemed so bright and angelic, the only ray of hope left in Draco's life. Considering her as such was a sign that he'd officially hit rock bottom. He'd sunk further than a Mudblood on the social ladder, and that meant Draco had little of his dignity left to lose.

This is what, in hindsight, he would justify his next move with. In the heat of the moment, however, Draco didn't quite acknowledge what thoughts were whirling in his messed up mind. All that seemed to exist in the world was Hermione, and Draco found himself closing the small gap between them and covering her sweet, pure lips with his own sordid and corrupted ones, as if hoping he could drink in some of her courage and fire and restore some of his stolen innocence by doing so.

Her lips were soft, damp and tasted just as sweet as they looked. It felt so good for Draco to feel something positive again; something that wasn't centred on assassination and misery. Hermione didn't react at first, but very soon her body won out against her mind, and she returned the kiss with pressure and enthusiasm to match Draco's. The feeling of Hermione's lips moving against his lit a fire deep within him, but at the same time Draco felt calming ripples pulsate throughout his body with the sense of companionship the kiss brought. Draco felt more alive than he'd felt in months.

Hermione willingly sank into his touch and his kiss. She even shocked herself when she didn't push Draco away, but after yearning after Ron and watching him snog Lavender every day for so long that it felt good to release her frustration. The kiss may have been intended, on both sides, as a meaningless way of making themselves feel better, but Hermione would be lying if she said there was something special about it. Kissing Draco felt so taboo, but Hermione couldn't seem to get enough. It was so addictively thrilling and sinful, and she loved it.

Hermione raked her fingernails through Draco's hair and against his scalp as the tension within her became too much to contain. He grazed his teeth against her lower lip, making her gasp. Draco took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, blurring their respective light and dark auras into one grey spiral of emotion. Whilst connected this way, there was no good and bad or love and hate. There was no divide. They were one.

Unfortunately it didn't last long enough. Draco's mind was engulfed in a hazy darkness, and his insides settled and turned numb once more when she pulled away. Draco rested his forehead against Hermione's, panting slightly.

They stood in silence for a while, just drinking one another in as they both mused over their respective motives for doing such a thing. Hermione's nails were now gripping Draco's aching shoulders, and his arm was still loosely wrapped around her body. The position was far too intimate for either of them to feel comfortable with in normal circumstances, but Draco had grown up more than he intended to ever let on. He knew there was time and a place to allow pride and blood-status to take over, and this moment now wasn't it.

He _needed_ this; to feel someone close to him; to feel somewhat human again. And in hindsight… well, Draco was damn glad he hadn't allowed his prejudices against Hermione to control the situation. He was very curious to know why she hadn't slapped him or hexed him, but it really wasn't the time, because Hermione was just as stubborn as he was when it came to pride.

"Malfoy…" she breathed.

"Shh," Draco whispered. He pressed his lips against her forehead lightly and closed his eyes as he locked this sensation and memory away for permanent storage in his brain. He needed a moment like this to hold onto when his task became too much again.

Hermione wrinkled her nose as Draco's breath tickled her skin, but she didn't say anything. She just listened to the steady beating of her heart until she felt the warmth of his sinful mouth lift.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said cryptically. "That was very special." His entire attitude towards her was so soft and sincere that Hermione couldn't quite believe there was an actual genuine human under all of Draco's arrogant bravado and prejudice.

"Tell me what's going on," Hermione said, making contact with his grey eyes and holding it for as long as possible. She shivered when he delicately brushed his fingertips along her cheek, but not in a bad way. For possibly the first time ever, Draco was looking past the fact that Hermione was a Muggleborn. And that terrified him.

He removed his hand sharply and shook his head, knowing the prize for saying anything was a personalised wooden box… called a coffin.

"Just get out," he said, but with far less venom than before. "I want my bath." He turned on his heel but Hermione reached out and grabbed his left sleeve.

"Not until you tell me-"

"NO!" Draco yelled, suddenly overcome with panic that his greatest secret would be exposed, and by Potter's right-hand witch, no less. "I won't let you have that kind of control over me, Granger. I _can't_." He was shaking so violently now that he was pretty sure he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"I'm not trying to control-"

"Yes, you are," Draco accused her, their brief moment of compassion and unity now behind them. He'd had his moment of weakness and now he needed to focus again. "Knowledge is power and power is control, Granger, and that's not something I want you lording over me when we're on different-" He snapped his lips shut, knowing he'd said too much.

Hermione regarded him steadily. "Different _what_, Malfoy?"

"Nothing," Draco growled. He tried to shake off her hand but Hermione held on tighter, not knowing whether to feel terrified or angry. In the end she settled on both.

"Let go of me, Mudblood," Draco snarled. The use of the derogatory name was more down to his urgency to unlatch Hermione rather than out of genuine spite. He summoned some of his last restores of strength and jerked his entire upper body away from her. His muscles screamed at him following the sudden burst of movement, but all Draco cared about was getting Hermione off his arm. He succeeded, but not before her nails dragged along the length of his forearm as he turned, causing his sleeve to ride up.

There was a gasp from Hermione, and then a heavy silence. Draco kept his back to her, but his eyes were wide and frantic and his breaths were quick but laboured with panic.

"Oh Godric," Hermione said in a small voice. She stumbled back a couple of paces and eventually collapsed against the stone wall. She was shaking her head rapidly from side-to-side in disbelief. Draco's inner-arm was no longer visible to her, but the mental image of it was still stamped freshly onto the surface of her brain. There, branded onto his porcelain flesh, was the ugly jet-black Dark Mark.

Draco bit the shredded skin on the inside of his cheek. He knew he ought to just _Obliviate_ Hermione on the spot and be done with it, but a hopeful part of him got the feeling that the witch wouldn't be blind to the correlation between the tattoo and his exhausted countenance. He quickly shrugged these thoughts away, knowing that he couldn't risk destroying any more of his integrity by pleading for a Mudblood's help; brightest witch of her age or not.

He turned swiftly towards the wall with his wand poised to cast the Memory Charm but Hermione had somehow scurried over to the exit of the bathroom.

"Granger, get back here!" he commanded, internally cringing at how uneasy his voice was.

The girl just shook her head again; she was for once, lost for words. Quite frankly, Draco didn't really see where the shock was coming from considering Potter had been going on about his Death-Eater theory since the school year began.

Hermione looked him over one final time with a blank expression before walking out of the room and letting the door slam shut. Draco had finally got what he wanted – to be alone – but in some ways he felt even worse than before.

Even when the bathtub filled and he slid into the silky water it was like his muscles were permanently ceased up and knotted. Draco turned so his chest was pressed against the side of the bath, and he propped his head up on his arms, which were flat against the floor where he and Hermione previously stood.

The Dark Mark stood out far too harshly against his pale skin, and glinted menacingly at Draco in the shadows. Now that he had this, it was like he was constantly being watched. There was no freedom for him anymore. He was trapped, even when he was in Hogwarts: a place where he was supposed to be safe. It was just painfully ironic that the one man who could protect him was the man he'd been ordered to dispose of once and for all.

Draco hadn't even realised that a bubble of rage had been building inside him until his body moved independently from his mind to release it, and he slammed a fist down onto the floor. The crack of the impact was deafening but Draco barely heard it. He proceeded to do something that Malfoys were implicitly brought up not to do, and lost his composure completely.

The scared little boy who he thought he'd buried found his voice, and Draco howled in pain that derived form physical, emotional and psychological sources.

He buried his face in his arms as his body hung limply in the hot water, partly wishing that he could just sink to the bottom and never resurface. Then the tears finally sprung free from his eyes and Draco cried out all of the emotion he'd been storing inside himself for months.

He knew that crying wasn't going to help him in any way, but Draco couldn't give a shit. He just wanted to keep screaming and weeping until he felt a degree of inner-peace wash away the stress. So far, it wasn't working. He was fighting a losing battle but he continued to cry regardless.

All the way across the room on the other side of the door, Hermione wiped away a tear of her own. Never had she imagined herself feeling sorry for the boy who'd made her life hell, but yet here she was, listening to him unload his grievances and fighting the impulse to run back in.

A few moments ago, Hermione had been prepared to tell Harry that he'd been right about Malfoy all along, and that he'd been the snake who almost killed Katie Bell. She'd always known Draco as an unfeeling vessel who'd never feel a single shred of regret about that particular attack. She thought all Death Eaters were dead inside to carry out such a task, but Draco was proving her wrong right now. His cries sounded like screams of a wounded animal – a helpless child -, and his entire shattered demeanour was more than enough evidence to tell her that he was a victim in all of this.

He had the capacity to feel true and raw emotions, and that meant he could still be saved.

**- TBC -**

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**A/N: **I'm actually quite proud of how that turned out. Thank you SO much for reading, everyone. See you for part two ;)

Comments are greatly appreciated :)


	2. Part II

**A/N: **Hey everyone, so here's (the slightly delayed) part two. Can I just thank everyone who reviewed/followed/faved part one. The reviews were all completely amazing and lovely and I'm absolutely thrilled to see that you enjoyed it and that I managed to pull off a realistic Dramione. (Well, as realistic as Dramione can be, anyway). Thank you all _so_ much! :D

So yeah, I pulled out all the stops for part two; let's hope it lives up to expectations. Warnings for dark imagery, violence, bad language (f-bombs), angst, and a generally intense roller coaster.

Fasten your seatbelts everyone, and enjoy the ride!

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_"In Light there is Dark, and in Dark there is Light." _

― _Kami Garcia, Beautiful Darkness_

**- Part II - **

After that night, Hermione and Draco seemed to come to a silent consensus that everything had to go back to the way things were. They went on with their lives stressing about the same things and insulting one another at any given opportunity, but whenever they encountered each other in the corridors or made eye contact across as classroom, the kiss was never far from their thoughts.

No matter how much they wanted to, neither of them regretted it. In fact, as the days went on it became difficult for either of them to believe it ever happened at all: the notion of a Death Eater and Harry Potter's best friend sharing a kiss was almost laughable. Or at least, it _was_ laughable, until Hermione happened to stumble across the chilling harmony of both his and Moaning Myrtle's sobs in the first floor girl's bathroom one day. She felt her blood run cold at the sound, and all of a sudden she was hit with the reality of what was going on and why that kiss happened; keeping her distance from Draco had evidently made her forget just how serious his predicament was.

Until then, Hermione had been speculating about all aspects of his new allegiance on her own. It was really tempting to tell someone else, if only to get a second opinion, but she knew what would happen: whoever she told wouldn't stop to read between the lines. Hell, Hermione didn't even think she would have if it hadn't been for that chance encounter in the Prefects' bathroom.

Even before then, she had a hunch that things wouldn't be so black and white if Harry's theory was proven to be true – which it now was. Now Hermione's mind was overflowing with questions. For the most part she was able to come up with logical explanations, but this was all baseless conjecture unless she got answers from Draco, and the chances of that were very slim.

When she came across the first floor bathroom she'd been musing the reasons why Voldemort would need to recruit a student. She gulped, realising that the only explanation was that Draco must be carrying out an inside job – but what?

One of Draco's chilling sobs rang out from inside, and Hermione recalled her very words to Harry and Ron regarding the bathroom in their second year: "No-one ever comes in here." That meant Draco didn't want to be found. Nevertheless, the sound of his broken cries was too much for her to bear this time, and Hermione found herself walking into the bathroom.

Draco looked a mess; perhaps even worse than the night she found out he'd taken the Mark. He wasn't only crying, but lashing out with his fists and his wand at random objects like water pipes and the mirrors over the sinks. His instability, his stress, and his haunted reflection in the shattered glass were enough to convince Hermione that his task was something serious… _deadly_ serious. Everything about it just seemed to be a bad omen that the war was coming. And soon.

He was a talented student, so Hermione knew his task must be a huge burden if it was causing him this much trauma. She couldn't say for certain that he didn't want to be a Death Eater, but she did know that he was out of his depth and quite possibly out of his mind… not that she could blame him; she had a hunch Voldemort wasn't the forgiving type if it came to someone failing to carry out orders.

Draco caught sight of her in the mirror just as he lifted his wand in a clenched and bloody fist to unleash his wrath on one of the taps. His face was contorted with rage and anguish, and his eyes dead behind the fiery exterior. Moaning Myrtle's terrified shriek peeled off the walls, and Draco lowered his wand slowly as he turned to face Hermione. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and his voice was rough and gravelly when he spoke.

"Granger," he merely identified her, completely conflicted with what he had to say to keep up appearances and what he wanted to say.

All Hermione could do was stare at him, that same concerned look on her face that had been there _that _night. Draco stared back for a moment, scrutinising the witch intensely. The way she stormed off after uncovering his Dark Mark led to too many sleepless nights and unproductive days in the Room of Requirement, with him worrying that she would have told Potter. But she hadn't, and he couldn't understand why.

He knew she was his enemy, but something in him felt like she may have started to put the pieces together. 'Death Eater' was just a label; it did not _define_ him as a person, and it seemed Hermione had come to the same consensus. He hoped this was the case, anyway; the whole thing was beginning to mess with Draco's head. He was starting to wonder if there was any truth to that statement or if he was just bullshitting himself.

Draco's knees buckled as the little boy won out over the heartless man Voldemort had made him to be. His wand fell to the floor and he buried his face in his hands, which soon became wet with fresh tears. For a second he completely forgot about Hermione's presence, and the fact that he was openly showing weakness in front of her was more than enough to prove that.

Hermione crouched down and wrapped her arms around Draco's shoulders as he cried. The warmth of her touch soothed him slightly, but it only fuelled new sensations of annoyance and stress at the same time. This wasn't how it was meant to be: Draco was supposed to be putting on that strong, bloodthirsty and determined front to succeed in his task. He managed that no problem in the presence of Snape and his friends – in fact he didn't even have to pretend in front of them - so it completely threw him how he couldn't do it in front of Mudblood Granger.

He really wasn't accustomed to not being able to hide his emotions: that had been something he'd always been good at. He shuddered against her, not even wanting to consider what that might mean.

Hermione's natural, pure scent soothed him to an extent, and Draco sunk into her embrace for longer than necessary, but he found the strength to push her off eventually.

"Get the _fuck _off me, Granger," he hissed before hastily grabbing his wand and getting to his feet. He clenched his fists at his side to hide the fact that he was trembling with rage. "Why do you mess with my mind like this?"

"Malfoy, I…" Hermione's eyes were still wide from his sudden movement. "I…"

"_Don't_," he snapped. "Just… don't. Stay the hell away from me."

He was already marching away from her and out of the room before she could respond. Hermione winced as the door slammed shut, and she was left alone with only the sound of running water and Moaning Myrtle's sobbing to keep her company. She knew very well she'd over-stepped the line just now; she'd just completely altered whatever twisted relationship she and Malfoy had shared ever since their first year…

But Draco had _let _her comfort him. He may have pushed her off eventually but the point was that he'd let her do it in the first place. To accept such an act of sympathy from someone he viewed as inferior was the loudest cry for help Hermione could imagine.

The ambiguity of his task was more terrifying than ever now, and Hermione knew that running to tell Harry, Ron or even a professor wasn't an option. She needed to get answers from Draco, though she had no intentions of using the information to double-cross him. She legitimately wanted to help him, and the funny thing was that she thought he wanted her to, based on a brief encounter they'd had a week ago:

It was New Years Eve, and Hermione and Draco crossed paths as he left the kitchens with a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand. Hermione (being Hermione) leapt at the chance to scold him for drinking alcohol when he was underage. His remark at the time had been obnoxious, snarky and sealed with that signature Malfoy sneer.

"Yeah, well I'm too young for a lot of things, Granger."

Hermione may just be reading too much into it, but after everything that had just happened, she couldn't help but wonder if that had been a cryptic, subtle and yet direct hint about what exactly had been stressing him out.

* * *

With his most convincing sneer, Draco put up his imaginary blinders when he entered the Great Hall, determinedly facing forwards at all times and trying to block out the stares of students all around him. He felt like a complete pariah, like he was now the enemy of every single person in the school – not just Hermione. The room was so large and crowded, and yet, he'd never felt more alone. He still had friends, or rather: admirers, in Slytherin house, but all they wanted to talk about these days was his mission. In some ways, it was useful: it gave Draco a slight ego boost when he needed it, and he had Crabbe and Goyle to recruit as lookouts when he needed them.

Draco couldn't deny that he liked the attention, and he had _not_ received the Dark Mark against his will, but his friends didn't understand how rapidly he came to regret this decision… not that he could have refused even if he'd wanted to. At the end of the day, Draco was the one with the tattoo: he was the only one who truly appreciated how difficult being a Death Eater was.

His heart sank when he saw that Potter was talking to that Bell girl. Hermione spotted him before Potter did. The accusatory glare in Harry's eyes when he turned made Draco think Hermione had told him about his Death Eater status, but he soon dismissed this idea when he noticed the worry etched onto Hermione's face. He really wished she'd stop looking at him like that: it just made him want to confide in her, and that was something he could never do, for obvious reasons.

Draco had been avoiding her like Dragonpox ever since that day in the first floor bathroom. For the sake of his sanity and resolve, he couldn't afford to get himself into such a vulnerable position around his enemies. He'd hoped keeping his distance would also make Hermione's meddling brain move on to someone else's life it could interfere with, but apparently that had been wishful thinking. Her chocolate-brown eyes were now darting between Harry and himself uncertainly.

Draco became riddled with unwanted guilt when he looked at the girl he'd almost killed. In that split second, reality set in, and he realised that the idea of murder was something that was a lot less daunting and difficult to deal with in theory than in practise. Katie had been unintentional, and Draco felt a new wave of fear and dread hit him as he remembered he'd been ordered to kill someone for real, and by very deliberate means.

He didn't consider himself a good person by a long chalk, but a killer? Draco didn't think he was capable… or was he? He hated that he'd know the answer to that question by the time the school year was over.

An acidic tang of bile scorched his throat as his stomach churned, and Draco felt a new burst of stress and desperation flood through him. He quickly turned on his heel to flee from the room. His head was fuzzy, and his limbs were aching and moving as if completely detached from his mind. Draco was vaguely aware that Harry was following him; however he was oblivious to the fact that Hermione was, in turn, following Potter.

She dreaded to think what Harry was intending to do to Draco. Since he was still so obsessed with that damn Potions book, she knew it could be anything, and 'anything' wasn't something Draco would necessarily be prepared for - especially in his current state. She just knew Harry would link Draco with the cursed necklace and act on that without first thinking about the reasons Draco had. Part of Hermione felt that he wouldn't care even if he did consider the options.

"Harry! Wait!" she yelled. Harry either didn't hear her or just ignored her, for he didn't turn around and continued to pursue Draco. Hermione sighed and did her best to keep up with her friend, barging through groups of students and profusely apologising to random people as she did so.

"HARRY!"

Still nothing.

She was losing ground now, but knew that it was imperative to catch up as quickly as possible. Her cheeks were red and her breathing was laboured as she staggered into yet another bathroom about thirty seconds later, clutching a stitch in her left side. Both boys were already throwing spells to and fro, and several mirrors were cracked. Harry and Draco seemed completely vacant behind their frustrated eyes.

"STOP!"

A water pipe burst and drowned her voice out. The two wizards continued to duel mindlessly, and Hermione could see Harry lose a little more composure with every spell he cast. All she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears and muffled sounds of incantations and spells ricocheting. The longer she stood in the doorway, the more detached her thoughts became. It took the sight of the faint tearstains on Draco's face and the frailty of his body compared to Harry's for her to act.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA_!"

"NO!"

Draco dodged to the side and shielded himself the best he could as he anticipated the blow of Potter's curse. But it didn't come. The silence that filled the room made him think for a moment that the spell had backfired on him. Draco turned, hoping this thought would prove to be reality.

It wasn't.

Harry was standing across the room; glasses askew and slightly bloodied up from their duel but otherwise unscathed. The dark-haired wizard was no longer looking at Draco; instead he was looking down at the floor with a mixture of horror, guilt and shock on his face.

Draco couldn't help but follow his gaze, and suddenly his thoughts came back into focus. His heart seemed to stop altogether for a moment when he saw Hermione lying in a shallow pool of water on the ground. He vaguely recalled hearing a female scream a few moments ago, and knew she'd taken Potter's curse in order to save him. At a first glance, Draco couldn't help but wonder: _Why did the Mudblood save me?_

He didn't even realise his knees had given way again until he started crawling towards her. She was bleeding. A lot. The blood seeped through large gashes in her skin, making it seem like her body was crying. Her complexion had paled considerably with the amount she'd lost, adding even more sickening emphasis on the good and pure aura Draco had never been able to un-see since the night in the Prefects' Bathroom. The contrast between her white face and the pool of red that swirled around her was almost as harsh as the one between Draco's skin and his Mark.

Wait…

_Red?_

"It doesn't look like mud," Draco whispered to himself in disbelief. His body started trembling. "Why doesn't it look like mud?!" he asked louder. Harry was still too transfixed on Hermione to answer or even hear him.

"FUCK!" Draco scraped his nails down his face. He found himself crying again, but this time, for a completely different reason.

He knew that Voldemort, and the Death Eaters were Pureblood supremacists. That's what they stood for. Their purpose, and therefore his by default, was to rid the wizarding world of impure people like Muggles and Mudbloods…

Except now Draco knew there was no such thing as a Mudblood.

He slowly lowered one of his hands and dipped the tip of his index finger into the pool of blood, water and tears, and brought it up right in front of his face.

It was no trick of the light; Hermione's blood was as red and vibrant as his own.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Draco subconsciously hiked up his sleeve and clenched his right hand over his left forearm where the Dark Mark was imprinted; he was just lucky that Harry wouldn't be able to see the Mark from where he stood. Draco dug his nails into his skin, hoping he'd somehow be able to rip the tattoo off. All he achieved was drawing his own blood. He watched as it dripped down and swirled with Hermione's in the water.

It was exactly the same, completely indistinguishable from hers.

Draco didn't even care that Potter was watching. He'd completely lost sight in why he'd ever thought he was doing good by becoming one of _them._

He just knelt beside Hermione, and watched as the vibrant scarlet swirled around her body in the water. It started to stain her hair, which lay splayed out around her white face. She'd lost so much blood; it was quite disturbing how angelic she looked like that.

Draco knew he ought to get help, but he remained frozen to the spot. Only, it wasn't his pride and reputation that was getting in the way this time. It was fear. And confusion. And guilt.

He heard a faint moan escape Hermione's pale lips.

"Granger?"

He looked up just as her eyes fluttered closed.

"_Granger_?" he said more sharply, not totally understanding why he was so worried about her. He'd joked about seeing Hermione die many times, but this was too real. The presence of death already seemed tangible in the air.

He reached out to touch her hand, wanting to check her body temperature than anything else. It seemed that this was enough to bring Potter back to his senses.

"Get away from her, Malfoy," he spat.

"Me?" Draco cried incredulously. "You're the one who fucking did this to her!"

The colour drained from Harry's face, and tears sprang into his emerald eyes. Draco didn't sympathise with the wizard at all. He'd gone almost seven years of his life not sympathising and he wasn't about to start now. _Especially_ not now.

Harry knew what he'd done, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't admit it yet, even to himself, which just made him feel even worse.

"It should have been you," he said in a hollow voice, tearing his gaze away from Draco. It was true: Harry had intended the curse to hit Draco, but he'd never have imagined the effect of it would be so dangerous. All things considered, Harry didn't even think he'd enjoy seeing Malfoy in this kind of state. But Hermione… it should never have been Hermione.

It was ironic that he'd chased the Slytherin into the bathroom to punish him for almost murdering Katie when Hermione now lay in front of him in the same dire circumstances. Only this time, Draco wasn't the one to blame. Harry felt like an awful hypocrite, and grew nauseous when he remembered something his late godfather once told him:

"_We've all got both Light and Dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on."_ In this instance, Harry had chosen the Dark. He knew right then and there that he needed to get rid of that Potions book, and tried not to consider the fact that if he'd listened to Hermione, she wouldn't be so hurt right now.

By this point, Draco had finally found the strength to yank down his sleeve and run from the bathroom, from Potter, from Hermione and above all else, from that awful red blood of hers. He strode out with his head bowed, stepping in time with the beating of his heart. This created enough of a distraction for Draco to temporarily get over the shock, but he soon he felt someone tug the back of his collar.

"Going somewhere, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco scowled upon recognising Snape's drawling voice. He jerked himself from his grasp and spluttered when his shirt collar dug into the front of his neck.

"You seemed in a hurry to leave the Great Hall," Snape commented. "Care to explain?"

Draco shook his head rapidly from side to side as his throat ceased up. His eyes darted subconsciously towards the entrance to the bathroom where he knew Hermione was almost certainly dying.

Snape sighed derisively and dragged Draco sideways into an alcove. "Listen boy, you and I both know that you are in way over your head here. I advise you to finally admit you need my protection when the time comes and get your head out of that narcissistic cloud it lives in as soon as possible. The Dark Lord may have specifically chosen you for this but –"

"I don't need your protection," Draco hissed between gritted teeth, his eyes flashing menacingly in the fading sunlight outside. "How many times do I need to tell you that?"

"You aren't fooling anyone, Draco. Questions have been raised amongst staff about your…" Snape's black eyes scanned him, all the while deciding not to question why the bottoms of his trousers were wet, "… _unhealthy_ appearance."

Draco stamped his foot in agitation and ran a hand through his hair. The next thing he knew, Snape's bony fingers were clasping his wrist.

"Ow," he groaned. "What the -?"

Snape stared intently at the red stains beneath Draco's jagged fingernails. "Whose blood is this, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco gulped. "Granger's." Even he found it incredibly questionable why he'd tell Snape this information, knowing that leaving Granger would result in one less nuisance to worry about. But at the same time, Draco knew he couldn't deal with her death on his conscience. He labelled this as a purely selfish decision and yanked his wrist away.

"What did you do?" Snape demanded. "Honestly, you really are an ungrateful swine. Here I am literally putting my life on the line for you, and you have the gall to waste precious time assaulting your classmates when there are more important things to-"

Draco's eyes were stony as they met Snape's cold stare. "I never asked for you to be my bloody guardian angel, Professor. More importantly, I'm not the one who attacked her. You can blame Saint Potter for that one."

"Do you really expect me to believe that Potter would harm Miss Granger, Malfoy?" Snape's eyes were accusatory.

"He was aiming for _me_!" Draco yelled. "Used some weird spell that I've never even heard of, too."

"Oh?" Snape arched a brow, obviously expecting some bogus tale that he'd heard Draco spin on many occasions in the past. "Do tell."

"Sectumsempra or something like that," Draco said with a frown, unsure if he was pronouncing it correctly.

Snape's expression changed at the mention of the spell. "Where is she?" he asked, sounding almost panicked, as if he knew what exactly that spell did.

Draco just pointed towards the bathroom and Snape's long cloak swished as he pivoted sharply on the spot.

"Wait in my office, Mr Malfoy," his booming voice echoed as he marched away and towards the bathroom. "We still have things to discuss."

"Can't it wait?" Draco moaned. "All I want is one sodding minute of peace from all of this shit!"

"Well I hate to break it to you Mr Malfoy, but nobody is entitled to the cushy student life forever," Snape responded vaguely enough so other students wouldn't be able to read between the lines, but specific enough that Draco knew what he was talking about.

"I still _am_ a student, though!" Draco shouted as he stomped towards the dungeons. He entered Snape's office and slammed the door, casting several locking and silencing charms on it and sinking to the floor. He drew his knees up against his chest and idly examined his nails again as if hoping to find some kind of divide between what was his blood and what was Hermione's in the dim light.

He still couldn't find one.

* * *

Hermione felt extremely woozy and exhausted when her eyes fluttered open. She stared up into the blackness at an unfamiliar ceiling, and unwisely attempted to crane her neck to take in her surroundings. The sharp spasm of muscles in her shoulders and neck jolted her brain back into gear, and she vaguely recalled being given a substantial amount of blood-replenishing potion by Madam Pomfrey before she passed out. This was enough indication to give her confidence that she was lying in the Hospital Wing.

Hermione started to drum her fingertips against the sheets beside her body but soon stopped when even that was too painful. Looking down, she gasped when her eyes fell on the jagged white scars that stretched between her shoulders just above her chest. A tear threatened to escape her eye as she realised how awful Harry would be feeling, but soon sucked it back. _'No', _she told herself. _'Harry should have listened to me about not trusting that bloody Prince.'_

It hadn't been a wise choice on Harry's part to use an unknown, and quite possibly an unregistered, spell. But then, acting like a human shield to save Draco Malfoy of all people wasn't particularly a well thought out plan on Hermione's part either.

"_Why doesn't it look like mud?!"_

As soon as Draco crossed Hermione's thoughts, she heard his voice in her head. She remembered that Harry's spell had drawn an extortionate amount of blood from her; was it really possible that Malfoy had finally had a reality check on the whole blood supremacy situation? Hermione daren't think anymore about it as long as she wasn't completely certain her somewhat fuzzy mind had just imagined the words from a side effect to the immense pain the curse had left her in.

"Granger?"

Hermione squeaked in surprise, and she forced herself to sit up at the sound of a voice. Her muscles screamed at her when she attempted this, and she flopped back against the pillow a couple of seconds later. The room was pitch black, but she hadn't seen any sign of life. That settled it then: she must have imagined the voice earlier if she was doing the same thing now.

"Ah!" her face contorted in agony when she felt something poke her in the arm.

"Shit," she heard that voice again. Looking up, she saw Draco standing next to her bed. His face was obscured in shadow, but his platinum hair was unmistakeable. Her mouth fell open; was she seeing things now, too?

"Where the hell did you come from?" she demanded breathlessly. She winced at the pain in her throat when she spoke, and rubbed her neck absently.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "It _is_ customary to use a door to enter a room, Granger," he frowned.

"But, just now… I didn't see anyone," Hermione mumbled.

"Well you did look in the opposite direction to the entrance," Draco said.

"Oh," Hermione said sheepishly. "What are you doing here? What time is it?" She watched the shoulders of Draco's silhouette shrug. Her eyes were then drawn to a long and thin extension to Draco's arm and instinctively flinched away from him, realising that he was holding his wand. Was he seriously planning on inflicting further injuries on her after she took that curse for him?

"Shit," Draco repeated as he saw the fear in Hermione's eyes, putting his wand back in his robes pocket.

"Malfoy, did you use that to poke me awake?" she asked, her mind taking longer than usual to put two and two together.

Draco shrugged again.

"Oh, I get it," Hermione snorted, for some reason feeling annoyed that he hadn't yet thanked her for her earlier act of stupidity-cum-bravery. "Didn't want to risk skin-to-skin contact and get tainted by my Mudblood germs?"

Draco stiffened but Hermione didn't notice. He gulped, and there was a long pause before she heard him say, "No."

It was a simple response that ought to raise further questions, but Hermione was stunned into silence by that word alone. Just a few weeks ago Draco had been close to throwing her out of the bathroom on the basis of 'Purebloods before Mudbloods', so she couldn't help but wonder what had brought this on.

"To answer your earlier questions," Draco said in a forcibly calm voice. "I don't know why I'm here, to be honest, and I don't know what time it is. It's probably four in the morning, something like that."

"Four? How are you still so awake?" she asked, suddenly realising how weak her body felt.

Another shrug. "As I've told you before, I haven't been sleeping much."

"And you had your wand out, because…?"

"Protection," Draco answered. His tone was calm but something about the way he said it sent a chill down Hermione's spine. It just implied that he didn't feel safe, even here in the castle. If her mind was fully engaged she'd manage to link this piece of information with the various clues she'd picked up about Draco's task, but in the moment, Hermione was exhausted, and didn't read too much into it.

"Malfoy -"

"Why the hell did you take that curse for me, Granger?" Draco suddenly blurted, his voice cracking. Hermione's eyes were adjusting to the dim light now and she could just about make out Draco's wide and haunted eyes staring down at her.

"I er…"

"Spit it out," Draco snapped impatiently.

"I don't know," Hermione said quietly. It was a pathetic answer, but it was the truth.

Draco grunted. "Fine then, how about you answer me this: why haven't you snitched on me to Potter about…?" he gestured vaguely towards his left forearm.

Hermione chewed her lip and stared down at the bed sheets.

"Granger," Draco crouched so she could see him in her peripherals. "As much as I've been praying for the day to come when you'd shut that annoying mouth of yours, now is not the time! What's been stopping you from telling Potter and getting me expelled?"

"I-"

"Because I'm a fucking bad person," Draco continued matter-of-factly. "A Death Eater. Why have you been going to insane lengths to protect _me_?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Hermione said snippily, knowing that I some twisted way, rebutting his claim would offer him comfort under the guise of familiar and snarky exchanges. An awkward silence then stretched between them as Draco's words caught up to her. Did he really just use the words 'bad' and 'Death Eater' in the same sentence? Maybe she hadn't imagined those things she heard him say earlier, after all.

She turned her head on the pillow and looked at him with wide eyes. It'd been one thing for her to see that he was obviously not ready for such a responsibility, but now it sounded like he actually _wanted_ to defect. If that was the case, Draco was more vulnerable than ever, now. Her teeth clamped onto her bottom lip so hard that she drew blood. She hated feeling this amount of sympathy for _him_. It didn't seem natural.

"Malfoy…"

"No," Draco stood. "Forget it. I don't want any more pity from you, Granger. I neither need nor want it; all it does is fuck with my mind, and believe me that is the last thing I need."

"Okay, okay," Hermione held up her hands beside her head in surrender. It really disturbed her to see how unpredictable his emotions were; she'd always considered Draco as being the epitome of composure. She just wasn't aware that Draco's outburst this time had been completely justified. He'd seen a fleck of blood glistening in the faint moonlight on Hermione's lip, and even though it was dark, all Draco could see in his mind was a blinding flash of scarlet. _Not_ a muddy brown. He sniffed back tears and turned away from her.

Hearing this, Hermione's resolve melted away. "Malfoy, come here."

Just like in their second bathroom encounter, Draco did not protest, even though he should. It'd been weeks since he'd allowed Hermione to comfort him that day, and being near her now was just torture. Human contact was never something he'd really missed when he didn't have it, but lately he almost craved it. Because that was the only thing that let Draco know he was still alive, still human.

Draco scoffed to himself as he gave in and gingerly sat on the bed; he didn't even know who he was anymore. The old him would never cry in front of a Mudblood, let alone sit beside one on a bed and let them stroke his hand gently as Hermione was doing now. Then again, the old him still thought Mudbloods existed.

"You don't have to do this - whatever it is - alone," Hermione said, focusing entirely on Draco's pain in the moment and not on her own. She may be going too far, but her gut told her that Draco would listen this time.

"I do," he said flatly. "I was… only I can…" he couldn't seem to form the words; he felt like he was betraying someone or the other if he spoke or remained silent. "_Nobody _can help me, or he'll… I'll…"

A single tear fell from his eye and landed on Hermione's hand, which still covered his own. She decided not to press him any further. Somehow she got the feeling that knowing everything was going to make the situation a whole lot worse for both of them.

"You may be an utter tool sometimes Malfoy, but you aren't bad," she said bluntly. "Not completely, anyway. In Light there is Dark, and in Dark there is light; you wouldn't be human if that wasn't the case. Voldemort on the other hand," Hermione shook her head slowly. "There's a different kind – an all-consuming - Darkness in his soul that no amount of magic can erase."

She felt Draco's hand start to tremble beneath hers. "Maybe…" he cleared his throat and kept his gaze straight ahead at the door. "Maybe I have that kind of Darkness in me, too."

Hermione swallowed hard. "You don't," she gave his hand a squeeze. "Voldemort lost his humanity, but you… you can still _feel_."

Draco looked down at her and held her gaze for a while. Hermione looked back with a neutral expression, tracing every sign of exhaustion or ill health she could see on his face, whilst his grey eyes followed every movement of hers before they found each other. Draco felt like he was looking at her through a new pair of eyes. He still didn't like her, but apparently the knowledge that she was not a genuine 'Mudblood' made something shift.

They both realised this was about as close to an understanding as they were ever going to get, and that lifted a small amount of Draco's unease from his shoulders. Everything Hermione had just said made sense, even though there was no way she could truly understand. Draco slowly lowered his head and captured her lips in a single, tender kiss. He was unable to find the words to express the relief and gratitude he felt for her washing away the self-doubt he'd been experiencing.

Hermione didn't even have time to react; the kiss was over before she even knew what was going on. Her lips tingled when he pulled away, and the next thing she knew, Draco was getting to his feet again and heading towards the door.

"You still have a choice," she croaked weakly after him.

"Not anymore," he replied. "This thing on my arm signifies an eternally binding contract. I've sold my soul to the Devil, and now I'm paying penance for it."

His words more than confirmed to Hermione that he no longer wanted to be a Death Eater. Or at least, he wanted to be rid of whatever 'honourable' task he'd been given.

"I can help you," she said. "_Dumbledore_ can help you. All you have to do is accept that you need it and ask for it, Malfoy."

Draco's stomach knotted at the earnest expression on her face, and all of a sudden he had the urge to throw up again. Very soon, by his wand or not, Dumbledore would be dead. There was no stopping it. Of course, there was the option of explaining everything to the headmaster before that time came, but then what would happen to Snape?

He sighed. These were not the kind of things a sixteen-going-on-seventeen year old should be worrying about.

"Granger, just go to sleep," he drawled, seeing how Hermione's eyelids were drooping. "You look like hell."

She rolled her eyes. "That makes two of us, then," she replied tersely.

Draco watched as she drifted to sleep, harbouring a vague sense of envy at how peaceful she seemed. Once he was sure she wasn't going to wake up, he slowly advanced towards her bed again. His wand was drawn.

The last thing he wanted to do was this. Though he hadn't cared to admit it before, Hermione was actually the main thing that kept him going lately. She'd been there for him during times he hadn't even realised he needed someone, and just now, she showed him that the divide between labels of Dark and Light wasn't as clear as he'd first thought. It still felt like there was a huge rift separating them, but Draco felt like she'd been brought a tiny bit closer through all of this.

Hermione had put her pride and their rocky history on the backburner in order to get through to him, and Draco was scared about what else she may do to truly help him. Knowing Hermione and her infuriating integrity, she wouldn't stand back and let Draco join Voldemort's side once the inevitable war came around. She'd taken an insane and potentially life-threatening risk for him today by saving him from Potter's curse, so what was stopping her from doing it again?

She'd be in more danger knowing about his undetermined loyalty than not. Draco got the feeling that Hermione wouldn't be so lucky as to survive if she risked anything on his behalf again, and that's exactly why he had to do this: to protect her. He also needed to do this as a means to get rid of the guilty conscience he'd developed ever since he saw her blood.

With a heavy heart, and a final glance at the serene face of the girl he didn't hate as much as he used to, Draco gripped his wand tightly and uttered the incantation to the spell he should have cast on her weeks ago.

"_Obliviate_."

He then turned, left the Hospital Wing, and began to skulk through the dark, deserted corridors. He felt completely empty now that he was without the emotional safety net he found in Hermione that he didn't even think he needed; that he'd stubbornly pushed away for so long. The cold emptiness only increased when the ghost of her warm and compassionate touch on his lips faded altogether.

It was sad that it had to come to this, but it was necessary if it meant she wouldn't take any more dangerous gambles for him. Hermione had both realised and acted on the notion that he could still be saved, and now Draco had done the same thing for her.

It seemed that in Dark, there could be Light after all.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: **It's a sadder ending than I was planning on: originally I was going to end it after Hermione falls asleep and leave it quite open, but then I thought that's a bad idea because knowing me it would've just turned this into an MC with everything that may or may not happen if she retained her memories and I have a word count to stick to on this so yeah, I had to do something a little more conclusive xD

That being said, I do like how the end turned out. I think it's more realistic and it allows everything from this point on to be canon-compliant but with the twist that Draco knows the truth about 'Mudbloods'. I also thought it was important for Draco to realise that he does have a good and selfless part of him (somewhere).

Sorry - I'm rambling. I just kept changing and re-changing my mind about the end so I feel the need to justify my decision.

Thank you SO much for reading this; I've been so inspired writing it. Hearing your comments would be wonderful! :)


End file.
